


Good With A Dagger And Skilled With A Sword (All That & More)

by Hail_hawkeye



Series: Hannibal Lecter's Unconventional Love Language [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Autistic Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_hawkeye/pseuds/Hail_hawkeye
Summary: “My baby’s a sailboat captain at sea. We don’t give a damn we do as we please” -RKSThey’ve learned how to say I love you without ever saying the words I love you. Will wouldn’t have it any other way. Hannibal is all he could need and more.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Hannibal Lecter's Unconventional Love Language [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095266
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Good With A Dagger And Skilled With A Sword (All That & More)

**Author's Note:**

> Second installment in the series plus another drawing!  
> This is based on the Rainbow Kitten Surprise song "All That And More (Sailboat)"
> 
> Much love to my beta readers!  
> -Kiera  
> -Sarah  
> -@milsta  
> -@Anti_septic_freak

The cool waves of the ocean lapped at Will’s ankles as he sat on the sunbathing platform at the stern of the Iscariot. He stared out past the secluded waters at the stone islands sitting in the water, untouchable and uninhabited. The coast off Algarve had proven far more stunning than he had assumed. The first time Will had ever ventured out past the United States was when he went searching for Hannibal in Italy, but even Florence paled in comparison to the beaches Hannibal had taken him to across the coast of Portugal.  
He was pulled from his trance when a slobbery pink tongue dragged across his face, and a particularly happy wag slapped him in the thigh. A bark promptly followed as the Irish red setter dropped into a play stance, her well-loved tennis ball dropped into her owner’s lap.

“Good lord you’ve got hot dog breath, Rips.” Will laughed out, ruffling her floppy ears. 

Tossing the ball out into the pacified waters, he watched as the dog leapt after it with no hesitation. Her tongue hung out the side of her mouth, as she furiously paddled to the ball and back. Upon returning she shook the salt water from her coat, as Will laughed and grabbed her into his lap with no regard to the fact that the brown boat shorts Hannibal had purchased for him would be soaked. He once again looked out to the water as the dog settled into his lap, and absentmindedly fiddled with the band that sat on his left-hand ring finger.

It had been nearly two years since the fall as they had come to call it. Things were not perfect, but conditions had become enjoyable with both men content to have each other by their side. This type of love was new to Will, partially because he had never been with another man, had never even considered it. Unlike with Molly, he and Hannibal had no labels for whatever it was that they had. They had seemingly walked into love by Will’s standards. They were physically intimate, and endearing comments were made on occasion, but more than anything they thrive off each other’s presence. Will had no complaints, having come to realize that Hannibal had his own version of saying I love you without ever explicitly stating the words. 

Gifts appeared around the cabin, deposited within his view but never directly handed to him by his partner. After a particularly violent meltdown that resulted in Hannibal having to restrain Will for far longer than either man had wanted, Hannibal had put him to bed and disappeared for over an hour. Though fear loomed in Will’s chest when he woke alone, he had sat outside on the deck and waited patiently for the other man to return. What he hadn’t expected was the strained sounds of a dog whining and the accompanied jingling of dog tags. Will had heard Hannibal’s hushed voice spitting out comments pleading with the dog to slow down for a moment and in return she would receive a treat, but she was only interested in greeting the boat’s other inhabitant. Watching the impeccably dressed and groomed man stumble onto the sailboat with several totes of dog supplies and a dissembled crate in his arms looking flustered had shocked Will into a fit of laughter. Hannibal had gifted him a dog to raise his spirits, a young pup who Will named Ripper (Because Hannibal you named our boat after a betrayal so it’s fitting that I do the same with the dog). The older man had claimed that he believed a companion would help keep Will to a schedule, all the while discussing the physical and emotional benefits that dogs bring to their human counterparts. 

Ripper wasn’t the only thing that had simply shown up for him. Only a few months ago Will had ventured into the bedroom at the bow of the sailboat to see a small box seated on his side of the bed. It was black and velveteen, recognizable as a jewelry case of some sort. With a soft creak the box popped open and inside sat a silver band with a singular gold stripe down the center. Flipping the ring around, the light hit the inside of the band, displaying an engraving reading W.G- H.L. His hands shook, as Will had walked into the kitchen holding it tightly in his grip. Before he even spoke, he saw a similar band sitting on Hannibal’s ring finger: gold with a stripe of silver running the circumference of the center.

Will sent a half grin at Hannibal, raising the silver ring up saying,

“When I proposed to Molly, I actually did the whole down-on-one-knee confess my love type schtick. This is a bit lack luster don’t you think?”

Hannibal had frowned, opening his mouth hesitantly to make a comment, but Will cut him to the chase.

“It’s a yes by the way.” As he slid the ring onto his finger. 

Hannibal had broken out into a full grin directed at the younger man as he walked briskly and pulled him by the hand back to their bedroom.

To this day both men agreed that that night had been a lively celebration to put it at the least. 

The good days had finally begun to overcast the bad, which were stored in a locked box in Will’s memories, allowing himself to forget anything before his current life. He let the lines blur between life before and after Hannibal. It was how he’d learned to live again.

Will’s reminiscing was disrupted by a slight rocking of the boat, signaling to him that Hannibal had returned from the days trip to the market. Ripper trotted over to greet the other man, resulting in Hannibal shuffling in an attempt to side-step the dog to drop the bags in the cockpit to bring in later. 

“Good morning to the both of you.” Hannibal smiled, as the bags were deposited with a soft thud. He stepped down next to Will and watched as the younger man turned his head to smile and greet him. Will watched fondly as Hannibal looked up to pet the dog when she arched her head over the ledge.

“I purchased enough supplies to last us the next month or so, as well as some Portuguese delicacies for us to enjoy. I was hoping to cook a traditional Portuguese dish with you tonight.” 

Will’s gaze followed the other man as he walked away, his silk muted purple shirt sparkling softly in the sunlight. He heard some clanging sounds, and the snapping shut of a box, before the European man appeared above him, casting a shadow over Will. In his hands sat two large fishing rods and on the floor to his right a sleek black tackle box. 

“These are handcrafted, fishing rods. Imported from the tropical forests of Southeast, the handles are carved of Agar wood. A stunning finish if I may say so myself. They were sat at one of the stands at the market. I reasoned with the idea that we could widen our variety of activities as we sailed around. The tackle box contains what I believe to be a sufficient variety of supplies. I know you prefer creating the lures yourself.”

“Hannibal, you really didn’t have to. These probably cost a pretty penny, didn’t they?” Will whispered in awe, softly running his fingers over the handle and down the glinting silver rod.

“Money means little to me Will.” Hannibal stated over his shoulder, as he returned to the bags, carrying them inside, Ripper following at his heels. “There is no monetary value on your merriment.”

Will snorted out a laugh and a thank you in response as he fished through the tackle box. The compartments held an assortment of hooks in different sizes, feathers, beige yarn, thread, pliers, and a pair of small scissors as well as varnish. Hannibal stepped back up through the cockpit and sat on the stern with his knees hitched up, sitting back supported by his outstretched arms. Patting the ground beside him for Will to join him, he spoke,

“Come. Show me the steps to creating a lure. We can sail out after preparing the rods and fish for the afternoon.” 

Will eagerly sat across from him, legs crossed, as he spread out the content of the black box.

“So, with these feathers we’ll make flies, which is a type of lure used for catching a variety of fish, including bass. From what the box has we can make a simplified lefty’s deceiver which is good for both fresh and saltwater fish. Though not ideal for ocean fishing, we’ll make do.”

Will throws a quick glance up at Hannibal, who raises an eyebrow at him.

“I hope you’re paying attention because there will be a quiz at the end of this presentation.” Will joked.

Hannibal let out a breathy laugh and nodded his head toward the items sitting in front of them indicating Will to continue on with his directions.  
Will selected the stainless steel, size 2/0 single hook, the thread, some of the black and purple bucktail feathers, purple hackle feathers, the flash fiber, and the peacock feather filament. Grasping the hook with the pliers near the barb, Will began.

“First step is to take the thread and tie the purple bucktail feather onto the curve of the hook. This helps prevent the hook from fouling.”

At Hannibal’s inquisitive look Will clarified,

“Sorry, I should probably be using layman’s terms. It prevents the hook from embedding in the body of the fish instead of the mouth. In the event we catch fish we don’t plan on eating, this feather will reduce the harm done to the fish and allows for release back into the water.”

Keeping his eyes locked on his work, Will wrapped the thread around the bucktail until it was secured, before placing one hackle feather on each side of the hook on the shank sitting above the curve, sandwiching the bucktail.

“These are hackle feathers which help support the bucktail. Continue to tie those in with the thread, then measure the flash thread so it extends slightly past the feathers. Flash fibers just help it stand out and allows light to reflect off. The flash should cover the body of the hook up to the eye, all while still being wrapped in the thread. Add another bucktail facing the barb on the underside of the hook. Finally secure another purple bucktail, a black bucktail and the peacock herl to the upper side of the hook, wrapping the thread up to the eye once more. Do a whip finish to secure it like a knot and trim the ends.”

After cutting the herl down, Will grabs the varnish and uncaps it, spreading it liberally on the knot

“Finish off with varnish and there you have it.” Pausing, Will looked up at Hannibal, who was fixated on him, watching him intently. Seemingly studying his every feature and move. “Did you retain any of that?’

“I fear my mind may have wandered. I was beginning to simply enjoy watching you work. You work nimbly with your fingers, efficiently and flawlessly.”  
Will huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dare I say I’m almost annoyed, but you managed to stifle it with a compliment. You’re a lucky man Hannibal Lecter.” 

“Then I do apologize for toying with your passions Will Graham.”

Aimless sarcasm and banter were a common language for the both of them, but Will adored it. Love covered in dry wit was something he could keep up with.

As Will prepared the rods and strung the line of the rods at the bow, Hannibal stood at the cockpit and sailed the boat out a few nautical miles. Will was situated at the rails, fishing rods at the ready, as he handed one to the older man. Soon enough they had cast out and stood back awaiting the pulls of fish on the other end. Sometime was spent in calm silence, reeling the lines slowly on occasion. At some point Ripper had emerged from the cabin and joined the men, circling before plopping herself down to chew on her rubber bone. Will was aware of the fact that Hannibal would throw glances at him every so often. He seemed to always want to have eyes on the younger man; dwelling on whether it was a possessive or protective in nature seemed unimportant to Will. The attention gave him a comforting warmth in ways words could never define. 

“Much of my life was spent in the light and in luxury, however since we began our journey, I have grown quite fond of the simple life-style. The ability to live unbothered by the outside forces away from the turmoil of humanity is a privilege not many have the opportunity to indulge in.”

“I most definitely can’t say the same about my life. Poverty and cabin life were pretty destitute, so this isn’t a stretch from what I’ve known. Other than, ya know, the fact this sailboat costs more than four hundred thousand dollars. You lived the Great Gatsby life and I the Walden.” Will responded, smirking at how Hannibal dropped his head to his chest to smile.

“Thoreau would surely admire our efforts on living a secluded life. He opted to live deliberately, choosing to experience life at its fullest and yet at its barest. He himself described it as wanting to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, lest after death he find that he had not lived at all.”

Within the hour they had caught a good few mackerels and sea bass, and while Will had chosen to continue fishing, Hannibal had retired to the cabin, returning with his phone, a small navy notebook and a weighted, smooth black mechanical pencil. Will heard the tell-tale sound of a photo being taken from his right side but kept his eyes on the water none-the-less. It hadn’t been the first photo Hannibal had taken of him. He assumed there was an album on the other man’s phone, likely labeled “Adonis” or something along the lines of a reference to an art-related refence. The soft scratch of pencil on paper was shut out as Hannibal began to speak once more.

“There is much I plan to show you. I would like to take you to every end of the earth, stretched as far as the Iscariot can take us. While we are still settled in Portugal, I would like for us to visit the Capel dos Ossos in Évora. The entire chapel, from floor to ceiling is constructed of human skeletons. It was built by 16th century monks to relocate bones from surrounding cemeteries so as not to destroy the remains. Two distinct corpses sit in glass displays: a child and an adult male. The chapel walls and ceiling contain death motifs, including a Portuguese phrase that reads ‘Better is the day of death than the day of birth’.”

Will’s head rolled back, as he closed his eyes towards the sun.

“That makes almost too much sense, that you’d want to bring me there of all places. So perfectly macabre in the signature Lecter way. Though I must admit it does sound intriguing. Really carries an air as a lovely place to honeymoon.”

Hannibal sat up straighter, mid sketch. “You flatter me Will. As if you were not already aware of the methods in which death is intimately alluring to me.”

“Please do continue on with your plans of our future endeavors. It seems like you’ve got a lot in store.”

The European man looked back down, and the scuffing sound of drawing resumed.

“Not far from Pompeii is Boscoreale which contains numerous frescos painted within a villa. The house was owned by a wealthy member of the Roman citizens, a rich man with exquisite taste. It was painted between 40 and 30 B.C. It was preserved as an antiquity throughout even first century A.D as it was never painted over. Sections almost appear as visual allusions, called trompe l’oeil, with such fine detail that painted pillars and household objects appear to jut out from the wall.”

Will could listen to Hannibal speak all day. Doesn’t matter what the subject was, if he could hear the rumble of his accent he would be assured. 

“You visited Florence”

Will interrupted him. “I would hardly call searching for you and nearly getting murdered visiting”

Hannibal paused, before continuing on. “You were in Florence, but I would like to bring you to Contarelli Chapel in Rome to see the Calling of St. Matthew by Caravaggio. His work influenced many European painters. His own methods became known as Caravaggism.”

“He was the artist who used the dramatic shadows and lighting, Chiaroscuro and tenebrism correct? Marked baroque artist. I dabbled a bit in Art History while doing my undergrad.”

Hannibal appeared pleasantly surprised, igniting a surge of pride in Will. 

“Right you are. This specific painting involves Jesus calling upon Levi the tax collector whom he sought out to be the apostle Matthew. The lines and lighting all direct movement towards the focus on Matthew at the table. It is a truly glorious creation of Caravaggio’s.” 

The way Hannibal shared his knowledge and skills with Will had become a clear method of endearment, much like the way Hannibal would caress him, brush over his hand or push stray strands of hair from his face. It was the subtle details the older man seemed to focus on. Will pondered on this, as he grabbed the cooler, in which he’d placed that day’s catches in. The rods had been reeled back in and sat under his other arm.

“You know that saying people go on about after heart break. About how there’s always more fish in the sea?”

Hannibal cocked his head to the side and stated, “I am familiar with it.”

“Well, I think mine was a barracuda.”

The way Hannibal’s shoulders shook, the way his entire body seemed to hum, penetrating the boat’s body down into Will’s feet and up through his heart, as the other man let out a true fit of laughter. The way Hannibal seemed so perfectly happy. Will could live a million lives, he could live forever, but he would never have lived if he weren’t able to hear Hannibal’s laugh. He would do anything to keep this sound on an endless loop in his brain, as the sound curled around him, engulfing his every atom in joy. 

“Should we get started on dinner? It’s nearly five thirty already.” Will said, nudging Ripper to stand up and directing her back inside. Hannibal stood up beside Will, journal, pen, and phone in hand. He leaned over and planted a kiss in his curls, wrapping his arm around the shorter man’s waist.

“Store the fish from today for another time. I purchased ingredients for our dinner this morning.”

As they entered the kitchen, Will moved the fish from the cooler to the freezer and carried the rods and tackle box to a cupboard used to store Ripper’s supplies alongside some rope and assorted items. Hannibal pulled out the ingredients, and the cod which had been soaking in a metal bowl in the sink, while Will reentered the kitchen, standing beside him. 

“We’ll be making bacalhua à brás. Salted cod, eggs and potatoes, a popular dish throughout Portugal. Cod is one of the staple fish within the country, though it is only native to Newfoundland. The iconic salted taste of Portuguese cod comes from the salt used to preserve the fish during import.”

Will washed his hands, as he was handed a knife, a cutting board, an onion and two potatoes.

“If you could, slice the potatoes into thin slivers, and the onion chopped finely.”

They both settled into a light pace of work, between Will chopping the food and beating the eggs, while Hannibal worked on gathering the pepper and saffron, washing the cod, and carefully removing the spines from the fish. Will handed over the chopped food, as Hannibal slid it into the pan to fry in the duck fat. The dish overall took less than half an hour to prepare. As Hannibal was removing the pan off the stove, and plating the food, Will pulled out the silverware, and glasses with the intention of clearing off and setting the table. Before setting the glassware down, he paused to look at Hannibal’s phone and journal on the table. The journal was flipped open to the page he had been drawing on, with the name Will Graham and the date neatly written across the top. The phone displayed the photo that corresponded, but Will could only stare at the quick lightly sketched figure in the journal. He had always been the older man’s muse, had known for quite some time the way Hannibal seemed to drink in Will with every glance and touch. The drawing was simply of him fishing, mid cast, but it felt far more intimate than just that. 

Will sat on the dining bench, Ripper jumping up to lay beside him. He smiled as Hannibal presented him with the plates, before the other man settled into his seat beside will with his plate. They ate in a pleased quiet, Hannibal’s hand coming up to rest on top of Will’s giving the occasional squeeze. They sat back once they had finished eating, enjoying every savory bite. In the continued silence Hannibal ferried the dishware and plates over to the sink where Will had begun to wash the dishes, small bubbles emerging from the hot water every so often and glimmering under the lights before popping. 

The Lithuanian man leaned with his flank against the counter, watching Will work. 

Without looking towards Hannibal, Will said,

“Do you ever miss home. Life before?”

The older man showed no outward reaction to Will’s question.

“Kierkegaard believed that one’s life is shaped by what one relates to. The aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. A person who turns to the aesthetic life lives for themselves, relates to themselves. The ethical life corresponds to living in the light of others, for others. In the religious life, one’s defined existence arises from a transcendental presence.”

Will, hummed lightly and added to Hannibal’s thoughts. “The father of existentialism.”

Hannibal tilted his head forwards in a half-nod, continuing on after Will spoke. 

“I have chosen to live the aesthetic life. Live for myself as no one around me could have fit the mold of my potential. That was until Jack ushered you to my door. A man of an ethical life who had very little understanding of your own mind. You conformed yourself to meet what those around you required. Always unconsciously prepared to deliberately place yourself in harm’s way when given direct orders. Loyal to all but yourself.”

“And now that you’ve unleashed my ‘true nature’ I have become a man of the aesthetic life. I see what you’re saying. May I simply add that you should be a bit more careful because your modesty is showing.” Will asserted back dryly.

“Man is blind to himself as he is most judgmental of himself, Will.” Hannibal expressed, pouring out two glasses of single malt whiskey.

They returned to the sunbathing deck at the stern, sitting and sipping the spicy, sweet drink. Hannibal had brought a small case alongside him, withdrawing a lighter and a cigarette, before lighting it and taking a slow drag and breathing out the smoke. Will’s head moved back slightly in surprise.

“Since when did you start smoking cigarettes?”

Hannibal tapped the filter, ashing it slightly into the water before responding.

“Since you encouraged us to blend in with the locals. A large population of European natives smoke tobacco.” 

Will chuckled. “I meant blend in with how we dress, and act. But by all means get lung cancer with the rest of the locals. Thought you, a surgeon, would know better.”

There was no real anger behind Will’s words, and Hannibal sensed that, laughing into his sip of whiskey. 

“This clearly isn’t your first time, so when is it that you started smoking?”

“I began, in earnest, in medical school. One-part stress, and two parts peer influence. My father was the one who taught me how to hand roll when I was a child, lamenting on the superiority of smoking one’s own product.” 

“The great and independent Hannibal Lecter taken down by peer pressure, like a lemming. Do my ears deceive me?”

“Unfortunately, Will, I was not immune to the foolish recklessness of youth.”

Will gave Hannibal a toothy grin, as he settled in closer to the man. 

“I smoked for about a week in high-school during a brief rebellious phase. I flew through packs of Camels until one stick just didn’t sit right. I found myself doubled over and my shoes covered in vomit by the end of it. Never really picked them back afterwards. My dad used to chew tobacco, so it was a smell I had become accustomed too regardless.”

“Packaged cigarettes are far to processed for consumption. Hand-rolling is quite simple.”

Hannibal pulled out a small plastic pouch of tobacco, a package of white, thin rolling papers and white slim filters. Placing them on the metal deck beside him.

“My father taught me to crease one edge lightly, creating a divot in which the filter may rest as you place the tobacco on the paper. Ensure that the gum of the paper is outwards, or the cigarette will not glue closed in the end.”

Will watched on, as Hannibal did just that, and softly placed the tobacco onto the paper. He watched Hannibal lift the paper, and carefully fold it into a U shape without creasing it fully.

“Move the tobacco until it is evenly distributed across the length.” Hannibal stated, as he packed it down into a tighter cylinder.

“Once it is packed within itself, begin to roll the edge of the paper along the filter, tucking it underneath the other edge. Simply continue this action down the entire body of the cigarette and activate the gum to seal the paper.”

Will’s body seemed to flutter, as he watched Hannibal’s hands work diligently, a reminder that the man before him was a highly skilled surgeon. His heart pounded momentarily as Hannibal brought the white roll to his mouth and slowly dragged his tongue across the gum, rolling the lip of the paper over, sealing it completely. 

“You may choose to use a small tube of rolled paper, or the end of pen to pack any remaining tobacco down, but a quality hand-rolled cigarette will require no other work.” Hannibal finished, holding up the perfectly packed and rolled stick to the light of the setting sun before handing it over to Will. 

As Will placed it between his lips, Hannibal leaned in close, the smell of smoke on his warm breath grazing Will’s shadow of a beard as he lit his cigarette. The pull was smooth, almost sweet to his taste.

“The tobacco comes from Croatia. The country has quite strict guidelines on what can and cannot be sold in terms of the tobacco grown. It is why I prefer the taste to many of the other varieties I have tried.” 

Will had moved in closer to Hannibal, as the older man proceeded to wrap his arm around Will’s back, hand down on the body of the boat behind Will so as to support him. The smell of smoke lingered around them like a cloud, as Hannibal brushed a piece of Will’s hair behind his ear. They sat quietly watching as the sun finally descended past the horizon, finishing their cigarettes and their whiskey. 

This hadn’t been the life Will had ever imagined. He would’ve assumed he would be married with three kids in a cabin by this time. Not on a sailboat in the Atlantic ocean curled up beside a serial murderer that he couldn’t help but love. There was a sense of calm existence that washed over the younger man in his understanding that this love was unique and fixed, but not malicious, as it once seemed to be. 

Not long after Will had put out his cigarette, Hannibal stubbed out his own on the plastic tobacco pouch, blowing the ash off gingerly. 

“One of the many hapless drawbacks to tobacco is the horrid lingering of the scent on anything it touches.”

Will felt Hannibal’s chest rumble with every word, before the older man stood up, and stretched out his legs.

“A shower should suffice in removing the smell from my body. Our clothes can be cleaned morning. Would you care to join me?”

Will looked up to see Hannibal’s eyes twinkle, a small grin dancing across half of his face, knowing full well what was being implied in the suggestion. Will took hold of the hand that was outstretched to him, and stood up quickly, smoothing out his shorts which had curled up uncomfortably from sitting.

“Well since you’re offering, I think I’ll happily take you up on that proposition.”


End file.
